• Por AlohaCriticón

william butler yeats antologia bilingue libroEste volumen recoge una interesante recopilación de la poesía del escritor irlandés W. B. Yeats, llena de influjos espirituales, filosóficos y místicos.

Yeats fue un entusiasta de sus herencias celtas y un sentimental enamorado de su pasión imposible, Maud Gonne.

Leamos algunos poemas originales:

The Rose of Peace

If Michael, leader of God’s host

When Heaven and Hell are met,

Looked down on you from Heaven’s door-post

He would his deeds forget.

Brooding no more upon God’s wars

In his divine homestead,

He would go weave out of the stars

A chaplet for your head.

And all folk seeing him bow down,

And white stars tell your praise,

Would come at last to God’s great town,

Led on by gentle ways;

And God would bid His warfare cease,

Saying all things were well;

And softly make a rosy peace,

A peace of Heaven with Hell.

To Ireland in the coming time

Know, that I would accounted be

True brother of a company

That sang, to sweeten Ireland’s wrong,

Ballad and story, rann and song;

Nor be I any less of them,

Because the red-rose-bordered hem

Of her, whose history began

Before God made the angelic clan,

Trails all about the written page.

When Time began to rant and rage

The measure of her flying feet

Made Ireland’s heart hegin to beat;

And Time bade all his candles flare

To light a measure here and there;

And may the thoughts of Ireland brood

Upon a measured guietude.

Nor may I less be counted one

With Davis, Mangan, Ferguson,

Because, to him who ponders well,

My rhymes more than their rhyming tell

Of things discovered in the deep,

Where only body’s laid asleep.

For the elemental creatures go

About my table to and fro,

That hurry from unmeasured mind

To rant and rage in flood and wind,

Yet he who treads in measured ways

May surely barter gaze for gaze.

Man ever journeys on with them

After the red-rose-bordered hem.

Ah, faerics, dancing under the moon,

A Druid land, a Druid tune!

While still I may, I write for you

The love I lived, the dream I knew.

From our birthday, until we die,

Is but the winking of an eye;

And we, our singing and our love,

What measurer Time has lit above,

And all benighted things that go

About my table to and fro,

Are passing on to where may be,

In truth’s consuming ecstasy,

No place for love and dream at all;

For God goes by with white footfall.

I cast my heart into my rhymes,

That you, in the dim coming times,

May know how my heart went with them

After the red-rose-bordered hem.

The everlasting voices

O sweet everlasting Voices, be still;

Go to the guards of the heavenly fold

And bid them wander obeying your will,

Flame under flame, till Time be no more;

Have you not heard that our hearts are old,

That you call in birds, in wind on the hill,

In shaken boughs, in tide on the shore?

O sweet everlasting Voices, be still.

The Wheel

Through winter-time we call on spring,

And through the spring on summer call,

And when abounding hedges ring

Declare that winter’s best of all;

And after that there’s nothing good

Because the spring-time has not come

Nor know that what disturbs our blood

Is but its longing for the tomb.

Ir a la biografía AlohaCriticón de William Butler Yeats


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